Playthings

Objectionable Content Warnings:

PLAYTHINGS

The world of Saederych was on the precipice of calamity. A once-distant Warp Storm was now racing towards the Lasian Sector and the Maiden World was directly in its path of destruction. Its human populace knew something terrible was coming. Communications had died, house pets turned feral, one-in-two children were born mutated and the once-mild weather had become endless cyclones and storms; all brought on by the already ravenous effects of the approaching Immaterium. Already cut off by the Great Rift, all the settlers of Saederych could do was helplessly look up at a sky turned fiery pink and hope it would pass.

Alas, they did not realize how truly dire the situation was. True understanding was only afforded to the planetary elite who were already being hurriedly evacuated.

As both leaders and defenders abandoned the planet and joined the flotilla escaping the Lasian Sector, the Ynnari made landfall. Though the once-Maiden World had been settled, deforested and disfigured by its Imperium residents, one ruined city of the aeldari empire yet remained deep within its alien wildlands. Within its time-lost walls were promises of relics, artefacts and webway routes long-forgotten, things too valuable to be lost to Chaos. Until now, the Imperium had thwarted potential recovery efforts, but that was no longer an issue.

Reconnaissance forces scoured the ruined wraithbone city, while in the atmosphere above, the Ynnari fleet set upon the Imperium flotilla.

Aeldari crafts of all origins assailed the Imperial transport ships, though the red-hulled battleships of Commorragh were primarily among the attackers. The deadly vessels expertly navigated through the chaos of void-combat, evading heavy counter-fire while simultaneously attacking the void shields and artillery of the Imperial ships, crippling them with devastating beams of darklight. Once their prey was vulnerable, they descended on the starships, bladevanes tearing through hulls and gutting the sluggish transport vessels, allowing the drukhari easier access to board and harvest the survivors.

Overseeing it all was the Vilsqarn, the flagship of the Kabal of the Howling Thirst. It watched from a distance as the aeldari vessels picked apart the helpless flotilla, the Kabal’s Archon monitoring everything from his private chambers.

Naked and relaxed within a pool of waist-deep waters laced with sensory heightening drugs, Krethaq enjoyed the carnage reaped by his forces. He watched via holographic a projection of the battling ships, visual feeds of the boarding parties and audio so advanced that every shriek and cry could be heard clearly among the chaos of conflict. Krethaq continually ran his index-finger in circles over a glowing glyph on the control panel beside him, shuffling through the various channels that he greedily observed. All the while, the Archon’s body was lavished with attention by a well-trained cohort of nude and collared pleasure-slaves.

A yellow-skinned enoulian kneaded his thick fingers over Krethaq’s chest, torso and thighs, rubbing rare oils and tonics distilled from extinct flora into the drukhari’s pale musculature. Behind him, a black haired human lay over the onyx floor and massaged his master’s broad shoulders with slow circles of his slender fingers. Meanwhile, a stocky t’au rubbed the Archon’s feet, pampering Krethaq’s soles and shins with a firm massage. Constant was their worship of the drukhari lord’s body, their every stroke and touch heightened by the concoction of stimulants diluted into the waters Krethaq lay in.

“Gth’zeir, board the damaged medium-sized vessel strafing in the Warp Storm’s direction, before pursuing it becomes an inconvenience.” Krethaq commanded via the active comms within his chamber, keeping focus on the battle despite his carnal activities.

“I’ll bring them back screaming, my Archon.”

“Lanuzhael, the central battlecruiser is causing more issues than desired.” Krethaq sighed, resting his hand atop the enoulian’s bald head. “Forgo boarding and destroy it.”

“All Phantom Lances and Scythe Missiles on my target, Kabal. Tear the primitives apart.”

Upon locating a satisfactory feed, Krethaq stopped his constant channel-hopping and admired the gruesome sights that followed. Wyches fell upon a circle of guards protecting a screaming family of noble-born humans. His lips pulled into a tight smirk as Succubi Xertheka clawed off a guard's head with her hydra gauntlets, revelling in the brutality.

“Your highborn truly are the most pathetic creatures. But no matter what hideous finery or shiny ores they might adorn; they are still beasts, I should not expect too much of them.” Krethaq remarked to the human slave laying behind him. Nisus was highborn himself, the son of a planetary governor from the Ermina sector, though was traded away as part of a deal between Krethaq and an Inquisitor. The dark-haired human looked up at the bloody slaughter only briefly, returning to his diligent rubbing of the Archon’s muscled shoulders.

“They are nothing compared to your—”

“Yes, yes, before my incomparable greatness.” Krethaq rolled his eyes, cutting Nisus off. “You had the honour of addressing me directly mon’keigh and you bored me.”

Nisus winced at this reprisal, but knew his master well enough. That was a challenge. So he leant forward, wrapping his right-arm around the Archon’s neck and pulling it in tightly, putting Krethaq into a chokehold as he squeezed down on the drukhari’s throat, slightly cutting off his breathing and circulation.

“They trained me to fight, though.” he whispered into the Archon’s pointed ear. “‘Master’.”

Krethaq wheezed, then smirked. “Better,” he strained. Meanwhile, both t’au and enoulian slid closer and took turns tending to his needs.

As bloodshed and pleasure mounted, an unwelcome message cut through the din of battle-reports and moaning slaves.

“Archon Ivensyr, the reclamation has been compromised. Astartes are attacking.”

Knocking Nisus back with a sharp butt of his head and kicking away the other two, Krethaq gasped for a long-denied breath and swiftly ran his finger over the glyph of the control panel. Channels switched and images blurred until the feed from Ranger Aviel of the ground-forces appeared, revealing a purple-haired aeldari hiding against a shattered wall, long rifle pulled tight to her chest.

“Here? Now!?” The Archon’s fury was audible. He stood up and water cascaded from his pale naked body, the blue light of the projections shining off his musculature. The slaves slid away, wishing to be out of reach of his wrath. “How many of the abominations are there?”

“A dozen at least.” snapped the Ranger, blood running down one-side of her angular face. “Black-armoured brutes. They detonated a repository of artefacts the moment that we uncovered it. We were expected.”

“Black-armoured brutes?” he questioned. “Wearing a singular silver pauldron?”

“Yes.”

Krethaq’s fury was suddenly off-set by a wave of excitement as he realised who exactly they would be dealing with. Deathwatch. He and his Kabal had a long and bloody history with these mon’keigh champions, one which made the prospect of facing them again oh so exhilarating. A smile slowly returned to the Archon’s lips; this was now a real hunt.

“Prioritize survival, keep them there for me.” With a slide of his hand, Krethaq changed the feed to the Vilsqarn’s pilots and navigators. They looked up, alerted to their Archon’s eyes suddenly being upon them. “Set course for Saederych. Be ready for landfall by the time I am armoured.”